Free Chesapeake Tide by Jeanette Baker

start right in and look at the books.”
    â€œI do. But you don’t have to stay.”
    â€œI wanted to be sure you could get inside.”
    She was offended. He’d make it up to her, but not tonight. “I appreciate it, Effie. It was mighty nice of you. But it’s late. Herb’ll be waiting for his dinner. We’ll take this up in the morning.”
    She looked at the clock. “My gracious, it is late.” She picked up her purse. “Everything is labeled in the files. If you can’t find something, call me at home and don’t mess anything up.”
    â€œYes, ma’am. I didn’t see a car. Are you walking home?”
    â€œYes.”
    He opened the door. “I’ll drive you.”
    â€œYou been gone too long if you don’t know how silly that sounds. Marshyhope Creek isn’t any bigger than a football field. There’s more energy goes into getting into that big car of yours and pulling on the seat belt then there is walking down the street to my house. Save the chivalry for Libba. I already got me a man.”
    He grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    â€œYou do that.” She hesitated.
    â€œSpit it out, Effie.”
    â€œThe thing is, I’ve been meaning to retire for some years now. I won’t leave you in the lurch or anything, but I can’t be here full-time now that you’re back. Herb wants to do some traveling. We’re looking at Florida.”
    Russ’s heart sank. Effie had been with Hennessey Blue Crab and Fishing for as long as he could remember. Her hopeful expression stopped the words in his throat. Somehow he would manage. “Don’t worry about it, Effie,” he said gently. “Take your Florida vacation. You deserve it.”
    Two hours and a dozen files later Russ still couldn’t concentrate. The small office hummed from the noise of the wall-mounted air conditioner. Cold air blasted him from behind. His last meal was seven hours ago and his stomach roiled with emptiness, guilt and a new emotion he couldn’t place, something that was more than tension but not quite anxiety. At some point he would have to fill the hole in his stomach and then call his ex-wife to tell her he was home again. He would eat first because after their conversation he was fairly sure he wouldn’t feel like eating again that night. But it wasn’t lack of food, nor was it the thought of talking to Tracy, that prevented him from interpreting the profit-and-loss statement Effie had so carefully filled in. It was her news that hobbled him and kept the numbers two-stepping in front of his eyes. Libba was home.
    There had never been a time when Russ didn’t know Elizabeth Jane Delacourte. Everyone who lived on the northern side of Marshyhope Creek in that exclusive community of green lawns and white homes and pedigrees predating the Revolutionary War knew one another. But the first time he really saw her was when she entered Miss Warren’s second-grade class in the middle of the school year. She had contracted pneumonia as a toddler and her anxious mother insisted on teaching her at home. By the age of seven, she’d bloodied her knees and fallen out of trees so often that her father insisted his only daughter was well enough to attend the local public school.
    Standing there skinny and scared, dark hair pulled back in a lopsided bow, eyes dark and enormous in her pale pixie face, scabby knees showing beneath her crisp, plaid jumper, she showed a promise of something more. She’d searched the room for a friendly face, those expressive eyes sending a mixture of fear and hope, until they’d stopped at him. He grinned. She smiled. His breath caught. Few things would remain in his memory with the same crystalline clarity as that first time he saw Libba smile.
    At first glance she was nothing out of the ordinary. Dark-eyed, dark-haired girls with the sculpted bones, ivory skin and square jaws of